She went to the open door and stood looking out into the herb garden. It was no more than ten meters square, surrounded by a high wall and with a wooden gate at the far end. She walked down the paved pathway toward it and saw that it carried a bolt. The bolt was firmly in place and this would have prevented any access into the garden from the outside. Furthermore, anyone leaving by this means could not have secured the bolt behind them.
She turned and walked back to the kitchen door. There was nothing unusual; nothing out of place. By the door stood a spade and some other gardening tools. Next to them, on the ground, was an empty tin dish. Presumably, the tools were used for tending the garden. Fidelma realized that there was only one conclusion. Brother Roilt must have been killed by someone who had been in the kitchen.
She was so engrossed in contemplating this fact as she re-entered the kitchen and took her stand by the empty fish platter that she did not see Brother Dian return to her side until he cleared his throat in order to regain her attention.
“The dishes have been taken into the refectory, Sister. What do you wish us to do now?”
Fidelma made a quick decision. “I want everyone who was working in the kitchen to come forward,” she instructed.
Brother Dian waved the men forward. “I was here; then there was Brother Gebhus, Brother Manchán, Brother Torolb, Brother Enda and Brother Cett.”
He indicated them each in turn. They stood before her looking awkward, like small boys caught in some naughty escapade and brought before their senior. It had been the youthful Brother Enda who had given way to his emotions at the sight of the dead body. Now he seemed in more control, although his eyes were red and his facial muscles pinched in maintaining his calm.
“I want each one of you to go to the position where you were working at the time when it was noticed that Brother Roilt was missing.”
Brother Dian frowned. “To be truthful, Sister, it was the fish which I noticed was missing first. I was, as I said, at the far end of the kitchen preparing the vegetables. Brother Gebhus was my assistant, working at my side.”
“Go there, then,” Fidelma instructed.
Brother Dian walked to the far end of the room with Brother Gebhus trotting after him. They were hidden from sight by the central obstructions but did not go into the area which was hidden by the angle of the L. She stood at the spot where the murdered man must have worked. She could not see the second cook or his assistant from that point.
“Now repeat your actions when you came to check on the readiness of the fish,” she called.
Brother Dian appeared around an obstruction at the top of the kitchen, hesitated, and then came toward her.
“What made you take the trouble to do this?” she enquired.
“The server who was to take the fish to the table had entered from the refectory. The door as you know is at the top end of the chamber near where I was working. He told me that the gratias was about to be said. That was why I turned and saw Brother Roilt was not at his position and when I came along I saw that the fish was missing.”
“How many entrances are there to the kitchen?”
“Three.”
“And these are . . .?”
“The garden entrance, the door from the refectory and the one which leads into a small anteroom in which the servers prepare their trays and plates to go into the refectory.”
“So if anyone left the kitchen they would have to go directly into the refectory or into the servers’ room?”
“In which case,” Brother Dian pointed out, “they would have been observed. The only way in and out without going through one of those rooms is through the kitchen garden. That is why I agree it was the itinerants who slunk in—”
Fidelma held up a hand. “The garden is surrounded by a high wall. There is a wooden door which gives the only exit or entrance. That door is bolted from the inside.”
Brother Dian pursed his lips. “The reason it is locked Sister, is because I locked it. When I noticed the fish had gone, I went out to see if the culprit was still in the garden.”
Fidelma gestured in exasperation. “And was the door shut or opened at that time?” she demanded.
“It was open. That was very unusual. Indeed, I clearly remember that when we arrived to start the meal this evening the gate was shut and locked. That’s why I threw the bolt on it, to make sure no one else came through that way.”
“I am glad that you have told me.” She was reflective. “It could have led to a wrong conclusion.” She did not explain further but turned to the others.
“Will everyone now go to the positions that they occupied?”
She saw that Brother Enda and Brother Cett immediately went into the area beyond the angle of the L at the far end of the kitchen. It was obvious that they could not see around the corner.
She called them out into her line of vision again. “How long were you in that area, Brothers?”
The two young religieux exchanged glances. Brother Cett spoke for them both, for the red-eyed Brother Enda was clearly still upset.
“This is where we prepare the fruit. We were washing and cutting pieces for the dessert course. That is our only task and so we were here most of the time. There was no reason for us to be anywhere else.”
“When did you last see Brother Roilt?”
“When we arrived in the kitchen to start to prepare our dishes. As he was head cook we had to report to him.”
“Stay there then.” She walked back to her original position. “Now the rest of you . . .”
Brother Gebhus still remained out of sight at Brother Dian’s original position. Brother Torolb stood on the far side of the kitchen in front of another big range supporting meat spits, while Brother Manchán took a position at the center table next to some clay ovens where he had obviously been preparing bread.
Fidelma regarded their positions carefully. If Torolb and Manchán had been glancing in Roilt’s direction, then they would have seen him, although with various obstructions depending on what they were doing. For example, if Brother Torolb had been bending to his cooking range he would have been facing the opposite wall, and even when he turned there would have been a central table with a low central beam from which a number of metal pots and pans hung which would have obstructed his view. He could only have seen the midsection of Brother Roilt.
She checked each of their views carefully before sighing in exasperation.
If everyone had been totally engrossed with their work, it might just have been possible for someone to enter from the herb garden, stab Roilt, drag his frail body to the storeroom and then steal the fish. Yet she was sure that the murderer had not come in from the garden. It made no sense. Why kill Roilt for a fish? The plate was by the window. If they were so desperate, they could have waited until Roilt’s attention was distracted, leaned forward across the windowsill and grabbed the fish. Why take such an extraordinary risk of discovery and resort to murder? And there was the matter of the gate.
Perhaps she was looking at this from the wrong viewpoint?
“I shall speak to each of you individually, starting with Brother Dian,” she announced. “The rest of you will continue about your duties until you are called.”
With the exception of Brother Dian, the others, reluctantly it seemed, resumed their tasks in other parts of the kitchen.
“How long have you been second cook here?” Fidelma began.
Brother Dian reflected. “Five years.”
“How long had Roilt been cook here?”
“Is this relevant? We should be searching for the itinerants,” he began, and then caught the glint in her eye. “Roilt had been here for a year longer than I. That was why he was head cook.”
“Did you and the others get on with him?”
“Roilt? No one liked him. He was a weasel of a man.” He stopped, flushed and genuflected.“De mortuis nil nisi bonum,” he muttered. Of the dead say nothing but good.
“Vincit omnia veritas,” replied Fidelma sharp
ly. Truth conquers all things. “I prefer to hear the truth than false praise.”
Brother Dian glanced around. “Very well. It is known that Roilt liked the company of the young novitiates, if you know what I mean. Male novitiates,” he added with emphasis.
“There was hatred toward him because of this?”
Dian nodded. “Many brothers disliked his abuse of the young.”
“Abuse? Do you mean that he forced his attentions on them against their will?”
Dian gave an expressive shrug by way of reply.
“Did Roilt have affairs with any of the kitchen staff?” she demanded.
Dian blinked at the directness of the question. “I must protest, Sister . . . you are here to find out who stole the fish . . .”
“I am here to find out who murdered Brother Roilt,” snapped Fidelma, causing Brother Dian to start.
“It is clear that he was killed for the fish,” Dian said doggedly after a moment to recover.
“Is it?” Fidelma glanced to the far end of the kitchen. “Ask Brother Enda to come to me.”
Brother Dian looked surprised at being summarily dismissed. A moment later the youthful, red-eyed Brother Enda arrived at her side.
“Are you feeling better now?” Fidelma asked him.
The young man nodded slowly. “It was a shock, you see . . .” he began hesitantly.
“Of course. You were close to Brother Roilt, weren’t you?”
Brother Enda flushed and pressed his lips firmly together, saying nothing.
“Were you currently in a relationship with him?” demanded Fidelma.
“I was not.”
“He preferred someone younger?”
“He was the only person who was kind to me in this abbey. I shall not speak ill of him.”
“I do not ask you to say anything that is not the truth and will not help us find out who killed him.”
The young man seemed bewildered for a moment. “I thought he was killed for . . .”
“For the fish?” Fidelma’s expression did not change. “Did he have a current lover?”
“I think there was a young novitiate that he had just taken a liking to.”
“When did he end his relationship with you?”
“Six months ago.”
“Were you angry about that?”
“Sad. I was not—” The young man’s eyes abruptly widened. “You think that I . . . that I killed him?” His voice rose on a high note causing some of the other kitchen workers to turn in their direction.
“Did you?” Fidelma was unperturbed.
“I did not!”
“How about Brother Cett? He is your age. Did he have a relationship with Roilt or with yourself?”
Enda laughed harshly. “Brother Cett is not like that. He loves women too much.”
“There is no feeling, beyond fraternity, between you and Cett?”
“We are friends, that is all.”
“I am told that Roilt was disliked. Perhaps he was disliked for his sexuality? Often people kill out of fear of things they cannot comprehend.”
“I can only tell you what I know,” insisted the young man stubbornly.
“That is all that is asked of the innocent.” Fidelma smiled thinly. “Send Brother Torolb to me.”
Torolb was a man about twenty years of age. He was handsome and still in the vigor of youth, though not so young as Enda or Cett. He was dark-eyed and had determined features, an expression as though he would not suffer fools gladly. He wore a short leather apron around his habit.
“Your task is to cook the meat dishes?” she asked. Torolb nodded warily.
“How long have you worked in the kitchens here?”
“Since I came to the abbey at the ‘Age of Choice.’ ”
“Three or four years ago?”
“Four years ago.”
“So you learned your art in this kitchen?”
Torolb smiled thinly. “Part of it. I was raised on a farm and taught to butcher and cook meat when I was young. That was why I specially asked to work in the kitchens.”
Fidelma glanced down at his clothing. “You have blood on your apron,” she observed.
Torolb uttered a short laugh. “You cannot butcher and cut meat without blood.”
“Naturally,” sighed Fidelma. “How well did you know Brother Roilt?”
An expression of displeasure crossed Torolb’s features. “I knew Roilt,” he replied shortly.
“You did not like him?”
“Why should I?”
“He was head cook and you were under his direction. People have feelings about those they work with and an elderly man usually influences the young.”
“Roilt could only influence gullible youths like Enda. Others despised him.”
“Others, like yourself?”
“I do not deny it. I obey the law.”
“The law?” Fidelma frowned.
“The law of God, the Father of Christ Jesus,” replied the young man fiercely. “You will find the law in Leviticus where it says ‘If a man has intercourse with a man as with a woman, they both commit an abomination. They shall be put to death; their blood shall be on their own heads.’ That is what is written.”
Fidelma examined the saturnine young man thoughtfully.
“Is that what you believe?”
“That is what is written.”
“But do you believe it?”
“Surely we must believe the word of the Holy Scripture?”
“And would you go so far as to carry out the word of that Scripture?”
The young man glanced at her, his eyes narrowing suspiciously for a moment. “We are forbidden to take the law into our own hands and to kill. So if you are trying to accuse me of killing Brother Roilt, you are wrong. Yet if those who are given authority under the law had said he should be executed, then I would not have lifted a hand to prevent it.”
Fidelma paused for a moment and then asked: “When you came here as a young novice, did Roilt make any advances toward you?”
Brother Torolb was angry. “How dare you imply—”
“You forget yourself, Brother Torolb!” snapped Fidelma.
“You are talking to a dálaigh, an advocate of the Laws of the Féncchus. I ask questions to discover the truth. Your duty is to answer.”
“I tell you again, I obey the laws of the Faith as given in Scripture. Anyway, you forget one thing in desperately seeking to find the guilty.”
“What is that?”
“The missing fish. If I were called to be God’s instrument to punish Roilt, what reason would I have to steal a fish that I did not want? Or would you like to come and search my cupboards for it?”
Fidelma gazed coldly at him. “That will not be necessary. Tell Brother Manchán to come to me.”
Torolb turned away, his attitude one of barely controlled anger.
Brother Manchán came forward smiling. He was a fleshy, bright-faced young man, scarcely older than Torolb. He gave the impression that he had just stepped from a bath and was freshly scrubbed. His smile seemed a permanent part of his features.
“And you, Brother, I observe, are the baker of this abbey?” Fidelma said in greeting.
Manchán wore a pristine white apron over his habit, yet this had not prevented the fine dust of flour settling over his clothing like powder.
“I have been baker here for two years and was three years assistant baker until the death of poor Brother Tomaltach.”
“So you came here as a young novitiate five years ago?”
Manchán bobbed his head and his smile seemed to broaden. “Even so, Sister.”
“How well did you know Roilt?”
“I knew him well enough, for he was head cook here. Poor Brother Roilt.”
“Why do you say ‘poor’?”
“The manner of his death, what else? Death comes to us all but it should not visit us in such a terrible fashion.” The young baker shuddered and genuflected.
“Any untimely death
is terrible,” Fidelma agreed. “Yet I believe that many in this kitchen do not feel grief at this man’s passing.”
Manchán glanced quickly in the direction of Brother Dian, still at the far end of the kitchen.
“I can imagine that some would even feel pleased at it,” he said quickly.
“Pleased?”
“A matter of ambition, Sister,” the young man replied.
“Do you imply that Brother Dian was ambitious to be head cook here?”
“Isn’t that natural? If one is second then it behooves him to strive to be first.”
“I was not particularly thinking about ambition.”
Brother Manchán regarded her for a moment or two and then grimaced. “I suppose you refer to Roilt’s sexual inclinations?”
“What were your views?”
“Each to his own, I say.Quod cibus est aliis est venenum. What is food to some is poison to others.”
“That is laudable, but not a view shared by some of your colleagues.”
“You mean Torolb? Well, pay no attention to his fundamentalism. It is so much baying at the moon. Who knows? It may even be an attempt to hide his own inclinations, even from himself.”
“Yet a man who can wield a knife and slaughter an animal might have no compunction in slaughtering a human being.”
Brother Manchán reflected for a moment.
“Are you really sure that Roilt was killed by one of us? That he was not killed by itinerants determined to feed well on the salmon that disappeared? After all, wasn’t the garden gate open and un-bolted? One of the itinerants must have come in.”
“And you can think of no other explanation?” countered Fidelma.
The young man raised a hand to rub his chin thoughtfully.
“Anything is possible. I agree some did not like Roilt. But I think you are wrong about Torolb. Brother Dian coveted Roilt’s position as head cook and disliked him because he thought himself a better cook.”
Fidelma smiled. “But Brother Dian was at the far end of the kitchen. He would have had to leave his position and walk down the length of the kitchen to where Roilt was cooking his fish. He would have been seen by either yourself or Torolb or, indeed, by Brother Gebhus who was working beside him and would have noticed him leave.”
Whispers of the Dead Page 20